This introduction is by Charles Burton, a political science professor at Brock University in St. Catharines and a former counsellor at the Canadian Embassy in Beijing.

Just before he and his wife, Zheng Yaru, flew back to Beijing this week, Liu Jianhui emailed me the Chinese text that I have translated into English below. From China he then emailed me the photographs that accompany this piece. He did this because he wants Canadians — with whom he has been unable to communicate due to the language barrier — to know something of his daughter and her family, something to supplement media coverage of her brutal rape and slaying three years ago, at age 23, at the hands of Brian Dickson, who was convicted of first-degree murder in Toronto earlier this month.

Liu Jianhui and I have been close friends for years, and have shared many meals together in Beijing and in Canada. We have much in common. We are about the same age. We both attended university in China in the late 1970s. We are both educators. Liu and I have collaborated on projects at the Central Party School in Beijing, where he is a professor of history. And, like him, I have a daughter who recently left home. My daughter is in second year at the University in Toronto. His daughter will never be able to move up to second year.

When I heard of the shocking events that led to Liu Qian's passing, I felt even worse that these unspeakable acts had been committed against her in my country, Canada, in Toronto, and at York University, where I worked many years ago. It is all so difficult to process.

Over the past three years, Liu and I have spoken frequently by telephone about this case. He had many questions. I did my best to seek out the answers he needed. Both of us were worried that somehow the perpetrator of this awful crime would not be made accountable for the great damage he caused, not just to the victim but to her family as well. Justice has been done now, but the parents will never hear their daughter's voice again.

Liu Quian's mom and dad say Liu Qian was brought up with an abundance of love all around her.

I was with Liu and Zheng in Courtroom 9 of the Ontario Superior Court during the trial. Their daughter was a lovely petite innocent, a loving daughter to her parents. In the courtroom, in front and to the left of us, was Brian Dickson, tall and beefy, a strong man. Staring at his outsized back for hours on end, the gruesome testimony of witnesses and forensic scientists left me feeling utterly revolted and profoundly saddened.

Liu and Zheng and I sat together during breaks in the proceedings, and ate modest meals at Chinese restaurants nearby. Their graciousness, dignity and forbearance even in our private moments together fills me with respectful admiration. The bonds of friendship between me and Liu Jianhui and his wife are stronger than ever. I am proud to know them.

The letter begins:

On April 15, 2011, our daughter, Liu Qian, had her young life taken away from us by the cruel action of a heinous criminal. Since then, her absence has rested heavily on us every moment of every day. And over the past three years we have yearned for the due process of Canadian law to come through to resolution. All that time we anxiously anticipated a verdict of the court that will see justice done for our daughter.

At last the judicial part of it has been put to rest. The just and fair verdict that we fervently sought has been rendered. This has brought comfort to us and, we believe, to the soul of our beloved daughter, now at rest in heaven.

Toronto is the place that has been the source of untold suffering and grief for our family. But it is also the place where our daughter made her life and was a promising student preparing for a bright future that will never come for her now.

We were just an ordinary family from Beijing with a single child, like so many others. We both made careers as teachers and researchers. Until April 15, 2011, we were a very happy family with good lives and what we contentedly thought would be stable years ahead of us.

Sept. 9, 1987 was a most joyous day for our entire extended family because that was the day our daughter, Liu Qian, was born in Beijing. We were one of the first couples among our friends to be blessed with a child. Not only did she bring great joy to our family, but she had many “uncles and aunts” among the neighbours who would come around to our small apartment day after day to pick her up and bundle her in their arms. She was so loved by so many relatives and friends. Our daughter grew up happy and healthy in such an affectionate atmosphere.

From a very tender age she demonstrated considerable gifts for language and art. She loved to make up stories, and was encouraged by her teacher to recount them to her classmates in the kindergarten. When she was in Grade 3, one of her drawings won first place in the Beijing Municipal Children’s Science Fiction Art Competition. How proud we were! We still have the prize certificate at home.

She was an honest girl, utterly without guile, an extrovert with a good heart. She was a very good person. Liu Qian was a regular blood donor, and involved in a wide variety of social causes as a volunteer. She was always doing things for others. When she was a little girl she came upon an injured kitten. She brought it home for us to care for. Unfortunately the little kitten soon died of its injuries. Liu Qian was inconsolable. She wept for days, such was her loving nature.

Our daughter was always a good student. She worked hard at her studies and had dreams for her future. After she graduated from university in China, with encouragement from her teachers, her family and her friends she applied to a number of foreign institutions and got into her first choice, York University in Canada. She later wrote that, after she graduated from York and returned to China, her ambition was to work to promote cultural exchange between our countries.

At first she had trouble adjusting to life in Canada, but soon threw herself into her studies. She started to achieve good marks and was bringing her English up to university-level fluency. We were pleased she was doing so well. We were so looking forward to her coming home for the summer holiday.

On the morning of April 15, 2011, she had a long video call with her mom over Skype. Qian said she would soon be finished exams and was about to buy an air ticket home. She would be back in Beijing in two weeks. She said she missed her family and couldn’t wait to see her us and her grandmothers again. She shared her room at home with her paternal grandmother; they were especially close. She talked about all of the Beijing foods she wanted to eat, and how she was looking forward to getting together with her old friends from school and the neighbourhood.

At about 2 that afternoon her mom received a telephone call from a boy. He was obviously very upset. He had been talking to Liu Qian by webcam when her killer entered. He said “Aunty, call the police! Someone has forced their way into Liu Qian’s room. Liu Qian is in danger!”

Her mom was completely taken aback by this. Her blood pressure soared. Hands shaking, she started to madly telephone everyone she could think of for help. Liu Qian’s dad was out of town on business. He had just spoken to Liu Qian over the telephone before lunch. Everyone was in a horrific panicked uproar, including our daughter’s 85-year-old grandma. We were desperately waiting for news that would set our hearts at rest.

But after more than 10 hours of agony, at about 5 the next morning, we received the news that we were dreading, the most difficult, hard to accept, devastatingly cruel news. Our only and beloved child would never be coming home again.

How could this be? We had just been talking with her over the computer a few hours before.

The horror of it continued day after day. In our pain we didn’t want to see anybody. We couldn’t bear the idea that people would speak of the child. We both fell into a deep depression. We couldn’t sleep at night. Her mom would sit motionless for hours, eyes brimming with tears, staring at the computer screen hoping her daughter’s image would somehow reappear on the screen and her sweet voice return through the loudspeakers.

Her mom had to take early retirement from her job teaching Chinese history to college students. Looking out from the lectern at young people who were about her daughter’s age brought a profound sadness that she could not hide, and tears would trickle down her cheeks. She loved teaching and her students, but it was no longer possible to carry on.

When we attended gatherings of our friends and coworkers, they were unable to be relaxed and happy in our presence, especially those who are mothers and fathers themselves.

We will never recover from this awful tragedy. Our lives have been permanently damaged.

Chinese festivals are the worst times for us. We have already had three Chinese New Years without her. We still prepare red envelopes of money for Liu Qian and put a plate of festival foods on the table in front of the chair where she used to sit. But her death has sucked all the joy out of it for us and taken all the colour from our lives. We don’t watch television. We frequently go to her memorial site on the Internet and in cyberspace give her flowers, burn incense, donate clothing and offer her ritual food.

Every weekend we take the bus over bumpy country roads to her grave in the Beijing suburbs. Our little family of three has a get-together on that cold tombstone. We remember. We pray silently. The pain is inexpressible.

It has been especially hard on her grandmothers, who had raised her, both of them now over 80. The reality of “the white-haired seeing off the black-haired” is the most bitter tragedy of their lives. When the other grandchildren come to visit, they weep because Liu Qian is not with them. We try not to speak of Liu Qian in their presence. It is better that way. They have both grown terribly thin as a result of their abiding grief. Like them, we have no appetite for food. The tea and rice has no flavour. Our health suffers. Our lives have been shortened by this.

We have to see doctors who prescribe expensive medicines that we can ill afford, because this tragedy has also caused us enormous financial loss. In addition to the cost of our three trips to Canada since this happened, the fact is we supported Liu Qian in her studies in Canada so she could give back to our country and give back to her parents. Under Chinese law, adult children have the responsibility to provide spiritual and financial support to their aged parents. We will not be getting that. This, of course, has nothing to do with Liu Qian herself, who was the most dutiful, hard-working and loving daughter any parent could hope for. Now we are both close to 60. We will never see her married and so we will never have grandchildren to carry on for us. This is a special tragedy in our Chinese culture. We only had the one child. Who will care for us in our old age?

Our loss and suffering is beyond any measure.

We wish to thank all of the organizations and individuals in Canada who assisted, supported and encouraged us over these past three years. Last week we were taken by friends to visit the place where our daughter lived at York, the lecture halls where she attended classes, the library where she studied, the places where she took meals, the tree planted in her memory on campus and the funeral home where her funeral was held three years ago. Everything is unchanged, except that our daughter is not there.

I must express my appreciation for the many kindnesses that we received from people in Toronto: the Toronto police who provided us with enormous support by assigning Chinese-speaking officers to us, their superiors who investigated this murder case, the lawyers who pursued it, as well as a very fine judge and a jury who made a just assessment of all of the evidence over a long trial.

The consular and education divisions of the Consulate General of China have been unfailingly supportive, as have Chinese Canadians and overseas Chinese organizations, the Chinese students and scholars at York University and University of Toronto, the president, students, professors and administrators at York, and the victim-support services of the Superior Court of Ontario that provided us with simultaneous interpretation into Chinese of the proceedings and explained to us at the end of each day the Canadian judicial process.

We send our respect and gratitude to all Canadians of good will — some of whom we know and some of whom are unknown to us — for their sympathy, understanding and support. This outpouring of benevolence and human kindness gives us the spiritual strength to carry on with our lives.

Translator Charles Burton is a political science professor at Brock University.

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